Musty Perfume
by The Last Letter
Summary: 2X09 AU. Seventy years after the death of Jack Hodgins and Temperance Brennan, Angela tells the story of what occurred to her young granddaughter.


**I wrote this back in 2010 and never published it. Trust me, I know it's a juvenile, but I thought that since it was finished, I might as well share!**

 **On tumblr I'm: we are all of legend now (with dashes between every word)!**

 **~TLL~**

My Grandma Angie lived on a lake in a little cabin surrounded by nothing but trees. She was almost one hundred years old. Every summer, I got to spend two weeks with her and this one was no different.

Grandma Angie was sitting on her front porch, looking out at the lake when Mom drove me up. Mom was only Grandma's daughter-in-law and I don't think she ever really forgave Mom for remarrying when Dad, hero only child, died. I jumped out of the little car, dragging my bag with me.

"Call!" Mom yelled after me, though we both knew I wouldn't. Mom left but I didn't care.

I bounded up onto the porch and stared at Grandma Angie. She looked like a china doll, her eyes dark but bright and lively. Despite her age, her skin was clear with only laugh lines to betray her true age. Her hair was dark, long and shiny. She was tall, her body still muscled and lean. I often wished I looked more like her than my father, who in turn looked more like his father, who I never met.

"Ella!" Grandma's voice was light, musical, as she lifted her arms to hug me.

"Hi, Grandma!" I exclaimed, wrapping my arms around her.

"Go put your things in the spare room and then we'll go for a swim."

I laughed and darted off into the cabin. The fun had begun!

(-.-)

Two nights later, we were sitting on her bed, her wizened hands brushing my hair and braiding it.

"Tell me a story," I whispered.

Grandma's fingers paused as she thought of a story, and then she began to speak. "About seventy years ago, I was in love."

"With Grandpa?" I asked with the confidence of a fifteen-year-old.

"No, with a man named Jack Hodgins. He was so sweet and we didn't even have a chance to get started before it was all over."

I could feel her hands quavering as she braided but she didn't stop, letting herself fall into the task.

"What happened?"

"He was kidnapped and buried alive with my best friend. We'd gotten a ransom demand but we couldn't pay it. It was just too much. Too high." Grandma's hands became steadier as they twisted in my hair but when I glanced up into the mirror, I saw tears in her eyes. "It took us two years to find them in the backseat of her car, clutching each other's hands. I found a letter for me, stuck in his coat pocket. Not a day goes by that I don't think of him and what could have been,"

"I'm sorry," I whispered, reaching back to squeeze her hand.

Grandma Angie blinked away her tears and put on her characteristic bright smile. "Me too, babe. Me too."

Then, she sent me off to bed.

(-.-)

Hours later, I was alone, still thinking about Grandma Angie and a man named Jack. I was staring intently at the wedding photo of her and Grandpa. The thought that she loved someone more frightened me a little. I decided to go up to the attic and hunt around. I needed to put a face to the man who had stolen Grandma Angie's heart in their youth and still held it decades after his death. I crept through the silent house and up to the attic.

Dust was the most prominent thing around. The steps were too steep for Grandma Angie to go up and down much anymore. I shimmied around the stacks of things and finally found a box in the back corner of the attic with the year on it that I thought I was looking for. I sat on the floor and opened it, finding a leather-bound photo alum. The first picture was of a pretty but cross-looking woman. _Temperance Brennan_ was scrawled at the bottom.

 _The best friend_ , I guessed before turning the page. Next was a man and a woman. The sight of the dark-haired man made my heart thrill until I noticed the caption: _Zack Addy & Camille Saroyan_. I did a table take. I had known those two. They'd been married. Cammie died when I was eight; Zacky when I was twelve. I turned the page, more curious about my grandmother's past than ever. It was a picture of a swing set, then there was a picture of a young Grandma Angie on the swings, then there were two people n the swings. My heart leapt. This had to be Jack! And I was right.

Grandma Angie's smile had never been so wide. Not even in the pictures of her wedding or holding her children or grandchildren. She was completely focused on him and I could see her one arm outstretched to snap the photo. There were several more snapshots then it just ended. _The kidnapping,_ I thought, and closed the book. I peeked back in the box. Inside, I found a tiny bottle, a few drops of liquid still clung to the inside. I sniffed the top of the bottle. Mostly, it just smelled musty but I could also smell something sweet. Once upon a time, it would have been a beautiful perfume. I put the perfume down and in the box, folded up and aged terribly, I found the letter. The ink on the delicate paper was faded and I had to squint to make out the words.

 _Angie,_

 _This is just in case I don't get out. I want to believe that I will but I just woke up and things aren't looking too hot. I want to find the faith that you and Booth always seemed to carry but you know that me and Dr. B aren't like that. We can't be like that. We don't know how to do it. I think she's trying harder than I am._

 _Angela, you're like the sun. Constant, warm, instant cheer. You could light up a room with that smile of yours – just like you light up my heart. Tease me about how bad that line is later, okay? But you taught me to see all the good in people, even when we work with all the bad. You taught me to smile on a rainy day. You taught me so many things that it would take a lifetime to name them all – even in the short lifetime I just spoke about. I love you, Angela. I know that you might think it's crazy but I just feel so close to you. Like you're my other half. The worst thing about dying down here is never seeing your face again. Corny, right? But true. I love you. I feel that in every part of me. If I never make it out, know that I loved you beyond a shadow of a doubt._

 _Forever and always,_

 _Jack._

The tears flew down my face as I read the words. I looked again at the scruffy man in the photos and thought of the love, of the poetry, that held in his heart. Looking at that falling apart page, I was overwhelmed with the feelings he had for Grandma Angie. It only made me wondered how she felt when she read it. Before, I had been confused at how Grandma could love anyone but my unknown grandfather, yet now I could understand. She had known the most powerful love possible and when she'd lost it. She'd had to settle for second best.

I packed away the mementos of Jack and went downstairs, covered in dust.

(-.-)

"How much did you love Grandpa?" I asked.

Grandma spun around. "What?"

I confessed what I had done last night, trying to judge her expression. "I get how much Jack loved you and you must loved him. After know that, I need to know how much you loved Grandpa."

"My best friend Temperance died with Jack. After they were gone, your grandfather became my best friend. We bonded, I confided in him. He turned into my everything. There is a certain kind of love attached to that but, no, I wasn't deeply in love with him. Not in the way you're thinking."

"You married him."

"We had sex. I was pregnant. Your grandfather wanted to do right by me and he proposed. I was older and there was a connection between us and I did like the idea of my family being together and so I said yes."

I pondered all this for a moment, then, "I think I understand."

Grandma smiled. "No one else alive knows that story."

"I'll keep your secret," I vowed and she hugged me.

(-.-)

Almost exactly one week after I left Grandma Angie's, she died, and I found myself back at her cabin while Mom made funeral arrangements. I was curled on the bed in the spare room and I was finding it was hard to believe that it was Mom and Carl in the master bedroom, not Grandma Angie. I wanted to believe that it was Grandma Angie in the kitchen, whipping up one of her famous cooking disasters for me to pretend to like for breakfast. I wanted to bury my head in my pillow and cry like I would die tomorrow if I didn't see her again, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Maybe it was the way Grandma Angie lived – in the moment, forever free. She felt things deeply and tried to teach me to do the same things. Maybe it was the knowledge of the fact that she had lived for so long, through the happiness and the sorrow.

Or maybe it was the fact that I knew she was with Jack now.

A day later, I was standing in a cemetery as they lowered Grandma Angie into the ground. I watched as they threw dirt on her, my heart wrenching for every little drop of earth that fell on her. I continued to stand there as the job was finished and the crowd of mourners began to leave. Mom patted my shoulder and said to take my time. I nodded, we were staying at the cabin for another day or so. It was my cabin now. Grandma Angie had left me everything.

I stuck my hand in my pockets and walked the length of the headstones. I wanted to know who she was next to and who would be taking care of her now. I let myself smile at the first marker. Zack Addy and Camille Saroyan-Addy. I smiled. The next stone was Temperance Brennan and, suddenly, I was unsurprised. If she was here, Jack was probably here, and I understood why everyone else was here too. I stared at her stone for a long time, feeling like I should say something. To tell the woman I was sorry she died like she did but thank you for being Grandma's best friend. No words would come.

The next stone was precariously close to Temperance's stone. It was my grandfather's stone. He and Grandma hadn't wanted to share one and it only took me a moment of staring to realize why. I knelt between the stones and touched each one, brushing my fingers over my grandfather's name: _Seeley Booth._

"You loved her like she loved him."

Everything fell into place. Temperance had been his Jack.

I stood, walked by Grandma Angie's marker to the one on the very end of the row, the one that Grandma was buried the closest to.

"Hello, Jack," I said, having the words for him that I had for no one else. "I'll meet you someday. All of you but for now, just take care of Grandma Angie for me. Tell her I miss her."

I then knelt between the two graves and dug a small hole. I then removed two things from my coat pocket – an old letter and an expensive perfume bottle with only a few drops left in the bottom. I buried it between them, a final testament to a tale of true love.


End file.
